


Encounters

by ErosRose



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, First Person, Jughead AU, Riverdale AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9775424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErosRose/pseuds/ErosRose
Summary: Just who exactly was Jughead Jones? What made him tick, squirm, anger, laugh? After a close encounter, Mae Maddox intended to find out. (A slow-burn with short chapters, one girls close and brief encounters with our beloved Jughead Jones. No promises that this is any good or that it will end the way you want it to; I have an idea in my mind however nothing is set in stone.)





	1. First Encounters

It was a late Friday night the first time you ever spoke to him. You were sat in what you deemed to be your usual booth, you sat here each morning before school enjoying your hot-cocoa and reading The Riverdale Register. _God can that Alice Cooper churn out some shit,_ you regularly thought. You’d never been here at any other time that wasn’t between seven and eight in the morning; how were you meant to know that he and his friends non-verbally held a claim over this booth.

‘Urm- who are you?’ A tired pale figure stood to the left of _your_ booth, questioning you.

‘Excuse me?’ you threw the question back, your dark eyebrows raised in annoyance.

‘This is _our_ booth, _my_ booth. Everyone kind of knows that.’ The stranger replied, the ‘our’ implied friends however tonight he was alone.

‘Everyone, huh? Hmm, yeah- I don’t care. This is where I sit every morning so I do believe this is my booth,’ you replied hoping your words dripped with the sardonic tone you were aiming for, before ending with a popping ‘buddy.’ At this late hour it was the sarcasm you could muster.

The slim boy looked for a moment before appreciatively nodding and sliding onto the cushioned seats opposite you in _your_ booth.

‘I like the sarcasm,’ he still nodded ‘you can stay.’

You scoffed and the brief conversation ended, his hand slipped into his rucksack and conjured up his laptop, you returned to reading the latest shit from Alice Cooper highlighting and circling any faults you could find.

 _You can stay,_ your thoughts echoed his words and again you mentally scoffed, _more like you can stay._

_Buddy._

 

* * *

 

Okay so as this began as a small drabble it is super short, four chapters have already been posted on my tumblr which is **betty-coopers-number-one-stan** , if you're interested. The word count is currently 1500 and I will shortly be posting the chapters up here as well.

As I am gaining speed on my plot-bunny the chapters are getting lengthier, they also do not follow any particular linear agenda so weeks could be missing between chapters. Also beginning with Chapter 5 they will diverge away from any mention of the plot in Riverdale, due to the dates of my chapters.  

Yeah so, thanks for reading my first published fic in five years! Also, no beta so all mistakes are my own.


	2. Brief Encounters

Have you ever encountered that weird phenomena when you learn something new, like a new word or a new band, and then you see it absolutely everywhere? The Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon.

Yeah, he was like that.

After that first time speaking to him at Pop’s he was everywhere; at school, the grocery store, one of the Pussycat’s gigs. You’d never noticed him before your first encounter but now you couldn’t miss him. You weren’t even actively searching for him, he didn’t interest you, he just stood out. Which was ironic considering you could see clearly from his dress sense that he wanted to do anything _but_ stand out. Despite seeing him you never stared at him, you didn’t want to make eye contact with him.

 ‘ _Are you scared of him?’_ You thought.

‘ _Well yeah, duh. He’s unnerving.’_ You replied.

‘ _Pussy.’_ You scathed back at yourself _._

You recognised his friends as Archie, Betty, the new girl Veronica, and sometimes that guy Kevin. He’d walk beside them as they’d joke with each other, his smile just reaching above his cheeks but never to his eyes. Despite noticing this on occasion you were adamant to yourself that you _really_ weren’t staring. So, although you knew his friends names, why couldn’t you picture what his was? Did he go by some kind of nickname? Something only his friends used? The boy was an enigma.

Regardless of his name he had tainted your early morning ritual; your booth no longer felt as if it were yours. Come Monday morning when you perched yourself on the red leather cushions, paper tucked neatly under your arm, you could only imagine _him_ and his friends sat in _your_ booth with jovial smiles gracing their faces.


	3. Close Encounters

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

It had been around five weeks since the ‘encounter’ as you were calling it. The memory of pale guy was fading swiftly as your school schedule quickened its pace and essay deadlines were looming. _Who said first semester was easy?_

You saw _him_ less often, or rather you noticed him less often; he was still there and you sort of new that. Your booth began to feel like home again, you no longer imagined _them_ sat with you and you no longer saw his careful eyes studying you above his laptop. Except for today.

‘Urm- who are you?’ you mimicked his first words to you, a sly smile graced your face in a bid to hide your annoyance.

‘I imagined you got here earlier really,’ he smiled a cocky a grin ‘I’ve been waiting.’

At his words your heartrate quickened just a miniscule amount, you had no cocky remark to make back.

‘Sit.’ He commanded, and so you did.

 _He imagined?_ Your eyes looked off into the distance afraid to meet his gaze, _like you imagined him? His friends?_

Maybe he was just as perplexed about you as you happened to be about him. You admitted to yourself in the early weeks that perhaps you both were kindred spirits, maybe it was destined that you’d interact and discover a well-balanced friendship. Maybe you had mutual interest that didn’t include making snarky remarks to strangers. You then also admitted what a crock of shit that was and began on your journey of forgetting him.

‘Jughead Jones,’ he stated, ‘the Third.’ He added for good measure.

 _Jughead Jones._ _Fucking Jughead, that was this guy’s name?_

‘Mae,’ your reply showed no hint towards the frantic cogs that whirred around your brain, ‘M-A-E, not Y’, you added for good measure.

He smiled with a flash of his teeth, his laptop that had been sat closed was now open and his interest was soon taken by the dim screen. The brown-haired waitress sashayed towards your booth, _was it your single or plural now?_ Your hot-cocoa was placed not so gently in front of you and splashed out onto the corner of your newspaper, before you could grumble the waitress had waltzed herself back behind her counter.

Rather than let yourself be re-consumed with the imaginary life of Jughead Jones you whole heartedly placed all of your attention into the latest shit-post that the Riverdale Register had to offer: Cheryl Blossom was guilty of her brothers murder? You found it hard to digest.


	4. Friendly Encounters

Seeing him in the morning was now a regular thing, you didn’t speak, you hadn’t spoken since you’re introduction. You knew when he was invested in his laptop, rapidly hitting the keys, that there was little chance he would even notice your arrival. Similarly he seemed to sense that he’d only receive a snarky comment if he were to distract you from your reading, you’d since abandoned the local paper for the school paper. You found a copy in your normal seat one morning, left behind you assumed by another student, and by God you had to commend it for its hell-of-a-lot more accurate reports of recent events.

Despite the lack of verbal communication you both showed little ways of acknowledging each other. One morning you turned up to your booth, Jughead already sat in the far corner, and to your surprise your cocoa was already waiting for you. In return the next morning you assured you got to Pop’s before him, when he arrived his coffee had been freshly brewed and sat waiting next to your cocoa and so a tradition began.

-

You had noted on occasion when reading your newspaper that Jughead was a common writer for _The Blue and Gold_ , he signed his name as _F. ‘Jughead’ Jones_. For weeks the ‘F’ had bothered you; _Fred? Franklin? Fitzgerald? What in the world did it stand for?!_ If you two were going to share a booth you decided you deserved to know his real name.

‘Hey?’ You nudged his leg under the table with your foot.

He didn’t respond.

‘Hey, Jug?’ You persisted, tapping him vigorously with your foot.

He grumbled but continued to ignore your attempts to catch his attention. With a slow sigh you picked out a napkin from the dispenser on the table, crumpled it in your right hand and threw it directly at his face.

‘What?!’ He snapped, his attention caught.

‘You write this?’ You questioned, unfazed by his short temper.

Unimpressed that you interrupted his writing with such a mundane question his mouth downturned sourly, his eyes glanced over the newspaper sat in front of you and in silence he nodded. He continued to stare at you ungratefully, as if prompting you to finish your question.

‘…-It’s good.’ You replied holding his gaze.

Ten seconds of silence filled the air before he replied. ‘Thanks.’

He returned to his screen, unknowing the interrogation had only just began.

‘ _F._ Jones?’ You asked with a sly smile on your face, really emphasising the ‘F’.

His eyebrow quirked, ‘No.’ He bluntly answered.

‘No- you aren’t called F. Jones or no- you won’t tell me what F stands for?’ You posed.

‘Just- no.’

You sucked your lip between your teeth, nodding as if you understood and before you knew it the idea had popped into your head. You gathered your bag and newspaper and began to exit the booth; however before you fully turned out of the booth you bid Jughead a farewell.

‘See ya around, Fiona!’ You sarcastically chirruped as you scurried out of Pop’s and into the cold December chill.

 _He is so going to tell me his real name by Christmas._ You thought deviously to yourself.


End file.
